


Pillow talk

by D_writes



Series: The bird and the storm [3]
Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: F/F, post-sex chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_writes/pseuds/D_writes
Summary: Helena's been terrible at communicating, but maybe there's no need to talk at all.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Series: The bird and the storm [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712296
Comments: 7
Kudos: 173





	Pillow talk

**Author's Note:**

> I highly recommend you read The Bird and the Storm and The date first.
> 
> I decided to post these fics separately because the tone is quite different, but they make more sense if you read them in order.

It’s quiet in a way it hasn’t been in years.

Sure the sound of traffic filters through the window just the same, and a helicopter is hunting for news not far from them. There’s an ambulance in the distance. Gotham isn’t quiet, but today Helena is. So it doesn’t matter how much chaos surrounds her apartment, her room, her bed. Within the edges of her mattress, the world is completely still, and fully contained inside Dinah’s eyes. In them, she can see the horizon bending over a sea of amber and gold, unbroken against an eternal sunset. This is how it must feel to sail to never dock again, she thinks.

“Helena”

She comes back to shore.

“Where did you go?”

There’s a hint of amusement in Dinah’s smile, like she’s watching a child in awe of something she’s always thought mundane.

“Your eyes.”

“Excuse me?” Dinah chuckles, because who would have thought the Huntress of all people would be such a giant cornball.

“They’re beautiful.” She says it in such a plain, matter-of-fact way, it’s not even a compliment. It’s a fact, and as any fact, her tone seems to imply, Dinah better deal with it.

She deals with it the best way she can, but the earnestness in Helena’s voice dampens any irony that’s left in her. Dinah’s not one to blush easily, and surely not for such a simple praise. Yet here we are.

“Smooth” she breaths out, way less coolly than she was planning to.

Helena doesn’t make fun of her. She doesn’t get cocky when Dinah’s gets flustered like a goddamn schoolgirl - which happens way more often than she’s willing to admit when a certain assassin is involved. Dinah can take cocky. But this? This five-feet-eight heap of muscles and unabashed adoration? It’s like all her defences are stuck on the wrong setting.

Helena’s warm fingers trace her jawline, the curve of her ear, her cheekbone. Every time she pulls her hand away, it inevitably finds its way back to her skin. It anchors her while her thoughts form and dissipate the same way writing does. Only this time, the words come out of her mouth instead of her pen.

“My favourite colour is purple.”

It’s a little clunky, changing topic like that, but it doesn’t surprise Dinah more than any of the things she’s discovered about Helena tonight.

“I grew up drinking espresso but I actually prefer a flat white. I’m more of a dog person. My favourite hangover food is pizza. I don’t care about the warning on the q-tip box, I still use them to dry my ear.”

“What are you doing?” Dinah smiles again, more curious than confused.

“You asked me all these questions, remember?”

“Yeah, a long time ago.”

Helena lowers her head and bites the inside of her cheek. She’s right, it was a long time ago. Maybe too long.

“Too late I guess” Helena mutters.

Dinah didn’t think her heart could swell any more. This can’t be healthy. It’s going to pour all over Helena’s light blue bedsheets and then it’s going to be a mess.

“You know, it kinda is” she says, cupping her face. Helena resists her pull, staring stubbornly at something on her pillow. Has she missed her chance? Is Dinah tired of trying to get to know her?

“The truth is I already know these things about you.”

A crinkle forms between her eyebrows and Dinah thinks it’s a little sweeter than the one she’s seen so many times, the one full of rage that’s become so familiar to her.

“Deep down, you’re a creature of habit, even if you were trained to change your route to work everyday and never shop at the same place twice.”

“It’s a good strategy.”

“I’m sure it is. But whet I ask your coffee order, it’s always the same. Your clothes are all black and purple, and so is your makeup. And every time we have a big night out, the next day there’s a pile of Dominos on our desks.”

“I’m not sure where this is going” Helena admits.

“My point is: you trusted me enough to show me all these things. You didn’t feel the need to hide or throw me off your scent or whatever it is that you trained assassins call it.”

Helena raises an eyebrow, not appreciating the mocking.

“I wanted you to open up to me because I wanted a... sign that I was important to you as much as you were to me. That you cared, that you felt safe around me. But it was already there, and I was too self-involved to see it.”

The relief Helena feels in her chest goes beyond the simple realisation that Dinah hasn’t given up on her. For the first time, she knows how it feels to be _understood_. To have her language translated and decoded in a way she’s never been able to do herself.

“I do” Helena hesitates to finish the sentence. Not because she’s unsure, but because of how monumental the realisation is, how completely earth-shattering this simple truth feels in her chest “feel safe with you.”

“Fuck, killer” Dinah breaths out, lightly punching her shoulder. She would love to sound a little more sarcastic, but her voice breaks a little so she settles for honest. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Hey, speaking of pizza” Helena ponders, and Dinah laughs, grateful she’s trying to change topic because this is getting embarrassing. It only adds to the fact that Helena may show her love in her own way, but shows it nonetheless if one is willing to see it.

“We did skip dinner” she adds.

“And we did a lot of exercise.” Dinah confirms.

“I’m starving.”

“16’’ deep pan Winsconsin 6 cheese?”

“You know me so well.”


End file.
